The U
by TheImaginatore
Summary: In the waves of criminal turmoil emerges one person determined to amass the power: Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. As he manipulates others, he is manipulated himself by a secret kept from him his entire life.
1. No Matter What it Took (Ch 1)

**Chapter 1: No Matter What it took**

Oswald's earliest memory was of his mother, which was entirely unsurprising since she raised him, but it was one memory that he vowed to maintain. And it was one that surprisingly struck him now, though the timing was a little odd.

Early in his life, his mother explained to him why they were living in a rundown cottage. She wanted him, above all else, to know that he was worth much more than working sinks, tailor-made clothes, servants, and an intact roof.

She told him in a quiet but definitive voice one night, what she gave up so that he would be safe.

 _"Oh Chessie, your mother never wanted to return to this drab life. But I tell you that I would make the same choice so that I could keep you." She said, looking through the distant window at the cold night while stroking his black hair._

 _"You see, I fell in love with a very powerful, and very rich man. But I was just barmaid, and he had just taken over his father's business. We met one night at the bar in which I worked, you know that old nightclub around the block. It was love at first sight. Many dates later, he decided to introduce me to his family. So after he begged me, I finally chose to accompany him to dinner with his parents. And like I had feared, they hated me and my lack of wealth. But they loved their son too much and let him marry me. I'd say I wish they hadn't but then I wouldn't have you my dear!"_

Oswald always smiled at that part. He liked that she chose him. It made him feel the only love he'd ever allow himself to feel.

 _"Anyway we married and had you and- uh well we had you and you were such a delight. But your father started to change. He started to wail on me after work, then you would cry and he would throw a few clouts to your ears as well. And Chessie, him hitting me was one thing, but I didn't want him to hit you no more. So I left him without so much as a goodbye. Sure I miss the luxuries he provided, but I just love you too much. I'd rather live in poverty with you than in a mansion with him."_

Again Oswald smiled. If he had a motive, it was to please her. If he had a weakness, it would be her. He intended to give his mother everything she deserved for her sacrifice no matter what it took.

No matter what it took, he reminded himself as he looked down at the table full of options.

Along the rough red runner on the mahogany table was a collection of various knives and carving devices, all sharp, clean, and ready for using.

Selecting a short knife, the dullest of the ones there from continued use, he walked over to his- well, he didn't want to say the word victim. That would imply the tied up man wasn't guilty, that he certainly did not deserve the torture he was soon to bear. Instead, he decided, the man was simply his captive. Captive to Oswald and captive to the mistake of groping Oswald's mother.

Remembering the captive's crime, Oswald's face twisted in rage and he gripped the knife more tightly. Slowly he walked over. Slowly he raised his weapon, and slowly he began to carve down the man's face. Oswald watched the blood trickle out the sinuous line, watched the man's face stiffen as he tried to be brave.

Oswald neared the delicate neck, and he realized he didn't want the man dead. No, he wanted the man alive, he wanted the man to suffer the agony of having an ugly scar and an ugly reputation. He wanted his captive to be free, so that the man could wallow in regret until he finally wouldn't be able to take it anymore. He would search his house for rope, knife, razor, or anything he could to end the misery. But on that day, all he would find was Oswald and a butter knife. And his only choice would be to end the misery by causing more.

And so Oswald ran the knife back through the same slit in the skin, and the man screamed in anguish.. screamed at the pain.

The screaming made Oswald laugh, his nostrils flared and his eyes wider, and the amusing joy of it all made him cut the other side, hard but still slow to make sure the most amount of pain was felt. He slashed across the forehead, went diagonally across his left eye, and the debacle was reminiscent of an expressionist painter, adding strokes here and there without so much as a thought.

The laugh echoed in the room, mingling with the scream, as the same thought echoed in his mind: no matter what it took.


	2. The War (Ch 2)

**Chapter 2: The War**

Oswald woke up the next day tucked into the coarse black sheets of his bed, and grinned when breakfast came to him carried by the newly scarred man.

"Oh Jim," calling his captive by the name he picked out for him, "those pancakes smell delightful, and is that coffee I see? I sure hope you flavored it correctly.

He had always been particular about his desires, and his servants knew better than to question or change their master's methods. The last few lost their hands, and they had to cut their own hand off with their other. The first few didn't fare so well, and they lost their life instead.

Jim held out the tray, expecting Oswald to take it, but he soon realized that Oswald intended to make him hold it as he ate.

"Well Jim it seems you have yet to prove keeping you alive was worth it. These pancakes are dry and flat, but at least the coffee is scalding hot, so now I can properly punish you for this mistake." And with that and a flourish of movement, Oswald picked up the mug and splashed the coffee into the fresh scars, broke the mug on Jim's head, and got out of bed.

Jim screamed, gathered the pieces and food, and scurried to the kitchen, yelling out orders for a better breakfast to the staff.

Oswald, meanwhile, put on his infamous penguin suit. Today he had business to attend to, a revenge plan to finally unfold. He chose his raven black suit and freshly pressed white shirt, the tux he always chose when he had to get his hands dirty.

Down the stairs he went, wincing every once in awhile at his limp. Unfortunately it was not under control today, and it reminded him of his bittersweet success of being shot by Detective Gordon, but at least not being shot to death.

As his remade breakfast approached, he inhaled at the delightful smell and sighed as he realized he no longer had time to eat.

"Feed it to the strays outside the club, none of you deserve the meal anyway."

Their shocked and angry faces amused him, but he steeled his own face as he headed out to find Maroni.

Outside the door was his town car, and it swiftly took him to Maroni's restaurant. When he arrived, he found Dave, an enemy of his, guarding the post. Thankfully the horrible man was dimwitted and accepted a few dollars as bribe to let him through.

Walking through the double doors he proclaimed, "Maroni my good man! I hear you have a wonderful day planned, as your friend from jail returns."

"Cobblepot, didn't I warn you stay away from this side of town? Who let this guy in anyway?"

"Oh I mean no harm. I simply told Dave that you were expecting me and that I had a gift. A few pennies later and he let me slide in. He really is a kindhearted man, so kind to let me pass and believe what I said" In actuality, Dave had tried to kill Oswald when he was still Maroni's bitch. And Oswald knew that what he said would surely have Dave killed, and revenge was definitely delicious.

"What do you want Cobblepot?"

"Merely to wish you a wonderful day, and to tell you that Falcone will be sending a gift to you later, but would like to make sure that he buys your favorite beverage. It's Liv Dobmeir right?"

"Yes, tell him I appreciate his gesture, and to bring it to Lidia's later."

"But of course, and I'll be sure to not be there. Wouldn't want to spoil your day more than I already seem to have."

Maroni grunts in dismissal of Oswald, and he leaves grinning at how perfectly phase one was executed.

Then he makes his way back to the nightclub, and finishes phase two, by ensuring the placement of the unloaded weapons, the cooperation of the hired men to supposedly kill Maroni, and Falcone's bottle being given to the gunmen.

In one night he would start a war. In one night Gotham would be his for the taking.

In one night he will be able to restore the wealth his mother deserves.


	3. Negotiations (Ch 3)

**Chapter 3: The Negotiations**

 **A/N:** The direction I am taking from this point on is not cannon to Gotham, and any relevance to the actual episodes is not intentional, as Netflix has not put season two up yet. I want to take Penguin and the other characters I will be having in a different direction than the show, and so I will be writing my own plot from here out. But I can guarantee that the direction I am taking will be interesting and surprising, and worth your while.

Oswald was basking in his success of beginning the war the next morning. It was a new day; the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, his breakfast was actually good, and his day was off to a wonderful start.

Sitting in his favorite booth, listening to his mother sing on the stage set up just for her, he felt on top of the world. The past few hours his informants had been bringing him news. So far in the past 18 hours, Maroni had shut down Falcone's ports, killed 30 of his men, and captured his wife. Falcone, on the other hand, has burned down 3 large storage units, killed 40 of Maroni's men, and kidnapped his estranged daughter.

By all accounts, this war was shaping out nicely, and in a few days, Penguin would swoop in, put the bosses under his leash, and become the head of all Gotham's criminal operations.

There was only was little pesky man who could stop him, his dreaded enemy Riddler.

Mr. Nygma should be of no concern, since he worked with the police and kept himself rather hidden and out of the way of the stronger criminals, but Penguin saw something the bosses failed to see when Penguin had worked for them: intelligence.

Yes Riddler was famous for his wit and puzzles, but Penguin knew that the wit allowed him the advantage of being observant and aware. Riddler was capable of figuring out the craziest of puzzles, and the weaknesses of the craziest people.

While he had yet to gain enough power and forces to challenge Penguin, Oswald was still sure that he must prepare early for Riddler as to not be taken off guard.

"A message, sir, from Falcone. He wants your help." A servant said, interrupting Penguins thoughts.

"Tell him to come by."

Soon enough Falcone did come by, distraught and furious.

"Penguin, what the HELL did you do?"

Hating to grovel, but seeing it's necessity, Oswald wiped his face clear of anything but dismay and fear and said "Sir, I'm so sorry, but I have done nothing! I gave the bottle to your men as you asked and I returned here, you can check the security tapes if you like, and see for yourself that I was here all night."

"Relax penguin, I'll buy your story. For now, but I need your men."

"Falcone, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, I simply cannot spare any men. And I suggest you stop sparing your own. Maroni wants bloodshed, and no matter how many people you send you will lose them all. It is better for you to face him directly. That way the majority of your men will be alive and business can resume as usual after a treaty is forged. May I even be so brave to offer myself as the mediator in negotiations."

Penguin of course, wanted the men spared so that when he took over the bosses assets he wasn't short of able bodies to maintain the power. And mediating was just what he needed to put the bosses on his leash.

"Penguin, you may be an idiot, but for an idiot you might be right this time. I will offer a mediation. Remain available."

"Of course Falcone. Anything for you."

Hours later Maroni and Falcone strode in, accompanied by armed bodyguards.

"We are here to negotiate." Maroni announced.

"And I am here to facilitate that."

"Good." Maroni said as he slide into the booth, across from Penguin.

Falcone eyed Oswald until finally Oswald moved and let him take the seat opposite Maroni. Soon a chair was brought for Oswald, and seated, they began a treaty, and unknowingly, their demise.

"I want my daughter. I want the killing to stop. And I want monetary compensation for the product you made ashes out of." Maroni started, taking the lead.

"Well I want my wife. I want you to stop killing my men. And I want you to reopen my ports. And I especially want you to vow to never war against me again."

Maroni stared, fury shone in his eyes at the accusation of starting the war.

Penguin, foreseeing a fight, quickly jumped in.

"Honestly I see that this is a fair trade. Both of you get your business, men, and family back, and vowing to end wars keeps what is yours safe. But promising to end war is different than committing. I would implore you to keep me as a permanent mediator. Before making any moves, you'll both run it by me so that I can make sure it won't be something to start the fighting again."

They both snapped their heads at him, ending their staring contest, and squinted at him in disbelief that he would even say such a thing.

But Falcone, he could only see Penguin as an idiot. He could only see Penguin as what was described: a mediator. A small part of Falcone warned him that trusting Cobblepot was a bad idea, but he dismissed it.

Maroni knew better. He knew that Penguin was a filthy liar and manipulator, and giving him this power would come back to haunt him. But Maroni's daughter, Laura, had only just begun to speak to him. And he feared that if he ever let war wage again, that he would lose his precious Laura. He could suggest leaving Penguin out of the contract, but sadly he trusted Penguin to keep war tucked away more than Falcone.

Penguin said nothing as he watched their faces. Each twisted as they considered the deal. But slowly their eyes released their squint, relinquished confusion, and opened up to a determination.

Maroni and Falcone once again made eye contact, and soon they made a curt nod in agreement.

Penguin let himself smile and let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Then it's settled. I will quickly write the contract, you two will sign it, I have a notary already here, and this will all be over with."

And indeed that is how the evening went. They signed, traded what was agreed upon, and left. That is how Penguin made the bosses his bitches, and how he came to own Gotham.


	4. The Perfect Day (Ch 4)

**Chapter 4: The Perfect day**

Penguin again awoke to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of breakfast. Jim had brought him waffles, cooked perfectly for once, and black coffee in his favorite white mug.

As he ate, reports came flooding in.

"Sir, Maroni would like to buy a port from Falcone."

"Tell him no, it's too soon." And unnecessary for Penguin since he owned it already.

"Falcone would like to know if there will be a party to attend tonight in celebration."

"Tell him no as well."

"But sir-"

"If I wanted him on the guest list, I would have him on it already."

Besides, the two bosses should get used to hearing no. Their promise to end war was carefully worded in the contract. They assumed it was war against each other, but Oswald made sure that the contract stated that they would not wage war of any kind, and if they broke the contract both Falcone's wife and Maroni's daughter would be promptly killed. It was his way of making sure the bosses never joined forces to overthrow him.

After the servant left and Jim took his tray, he donned his obsidian black tux, his celebration suit. The color shift was only noticeable to those who payed attention.

Tonight he would party and celebrate his grand victory. Tonight, and every night hence forth, he was king.

On the same day, a few blocks away, Riddler too was preparing for a delightful evening. After waiting for Kristen for so long to accept his date invitation, his patience was finally rewarded. She was rebounding from the man he had accidentally killed, and even though she said he was _only_ her rebound, he intended to make sure she did not want to leave him.

"Oh dear, I believe I sound like the Ogre now." He said to himself.

"I suppose I mean that I just will treat her how she deserves and she will love me and want to stay out of love." That was better, he concluded.

Kristen was his goddess. He had killed for her, and he wouldn't hesitate to do so again. Maybe she didn't return his affections yet, but he knew she would.

"In due time." He proclaimed looking at the ring he had already picked out for her. It was a 14 karot gold band, braided in a vintage style, with a big emerald in the center with a diamond on either side. Even though many would only see the braid formation, the gifted few would see that the gold interlaces in such a way that the emerald is the dot and the band contains the curve of a question mark. She was his, and she ought to wear his symbol.

Smiling, he tucked the ring away into his safe, closed the photo frame over the safe, secured the glass over the photo, reset the security alarm on the glass, and walked away with a slight bounce in his step.

He had chosen to wear his absolute best suit: a sleek black coat with a gray shirt and green tie.

"Ah, it is nearly 5:30, I mustn't be late for our first date." With a tip of his hat he left his apartment and headed to pick up Kristen.

As he walked he forced himself to focus and notice his surroundings.

"A pocket, a pick, and a greedy man; I can see that someone wasn't happy with what was dropped in his can."

Sure enough, the homeless man looted the passing stranger.

"A weary glance, a nervous look, and a tiny little crook. Someone is about to dash into the nook."

Right again, he praised himself, as the rich man ran into the alley to the gamblers den.

"A neon umbrella, a shivering caterer, and a woman in a dress, I can only imagine that Penguin's mission was a success."

For the third time he found his observation to be correct, as Penguin came out to accost the caterer in his obsidian celebration tux. Riddler always thought him an odd, bird like little man.

Penguin would be a worthy adversary, should the time arise. He was smart enough to look for potential instead of current status. And he always seemed to see what few others could.

Finally he reached Kristen's home, and he smiled when she opened the door wearing a green, knee length dress that billowed in the wind. Her hair was done up tight and curly, and she looked truly remarkable. Her beauty was the only riddle he could not figure out.

"Ready to go my dear?" He said, crooking his arm for hers to to intertwine with.

"Where are we going?" She said with not near as much enthusiasm as he had hoped for.

"I'll give you a hint: Where can one go to feel like flying without leaving the ground, to feel the wind but be indoors, and travel without leaving the city?"

"Just tell me Nygma."

"We are going salsa dancing!"

She rolled her eyes, but gave hint of a smile. Yes, she was the one.


	5. The Great Dance (Ch 5)

**Chapter 5:**

Nygma watched Kristen as she walked into the giant ballroom. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape as she looked up at the high ceilings and chandeliers with the wonder of a child. He could tell she had never been taken somewhere so lavish, that no one had cared to take her somewhere that almost matched her own grandeur. She deserved a castle, servants, ladies in waiting, all that royalty had and more. He let a sincere smile break through as he watched her take a practice twirl.

She turned finally to him with a smile and looked as if she was going to say something but instead found herself speechless. Her smile always had been contagious, and he felt his smile deepen ever further.

"Nygma, this is amazing! I feel entirely underdressed."

"Nonsense, you look lovely. And we are salsa dancing. Any more on that dress and you might trip."

"I don't even know how to dance." She admitted, looking to the side in embarrassment.

"I'll teach you." Nygma responded, extending his arm out to her.

She hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, back to his face. She seemed to be looking for a trick, like he had some sort of prank planned. Her face revealed her thoughts completely: confusion, excitement, worriment, and then finally peace. He liked that he could read her face like a book. She was the most honest person in his life and it eased his tense spirit.

Finally she took his hand and he felt the warmth and smoothness of her skin. He twirled her into his arms and then swiveled her hips to the beat. Like a natural, she began to pick up on the back and forth steps, and her hips became mesmerizing. When she noticed him staring, he blushed.

"It's nice to be noticed. It's nice to be here with you." She said suddenly, and for a second the confidence that she had lost sprang out as she made eye contact with him. But she looked away blushing a few moments later.

"It's a delight to be dancing with you." He said, taking her chin gently and looking into her eyes.

In that moment the world disappeared for him. There was only him and Kristen. And for a split second, she felt that forever feeling too. Realizing they had stopped dancing, he smiled, but she just took the lead and the moment was gone.

It was like that the rest of the night. Tiny moments where they felt the connection then back to zero. The back and forth drove him crazy and his mind began to wander as they danced.

Nygma tried to force his doubts away. She was taunting him with the back and forth, dribbling his heart with her delicate hands. But despite his protests, thoughts flooded forth and his back visibly tensed. He saw her frown, but she said nothing.

Most people believed Nygma to be lighthearted and gentle, but there was a darkness that swirled inside him. His childhood was the opposite of the rainbows and flowers people expected. His mother left him before he could speak a word, and his father beat him incessantly. Even with Kristen in his arms, he couldn't help but succumb to the memory of the night he ran.

" _You good for nothing idiot. Don't you know you ain't worth what I bargained for?" His father said, punctuating the sentence with a hard hit to Nygma's nose._

" _Why do I even bother sending you to private school? None o' the kids like you cause you just read and read, like someday you'll need to recall the plot from The Old Man and the Sea or the one about the cuckoo. You're the cuckoo, with those damned puzzles. When will you realize the time you are wasting?" Another hit lands squarely on the jaw._

" _I wish I had pulled out. I wish I had put you in the dumpster like those Indian women do, then I would be happy. I wish I had your mother, with her ample and able hips and plump lips. She was a loser 'till I made her something. And I can't seem to make anything out of you. You're nothing, you're shit, boy. You're the slop fed to pigs, and someday they will eat you alive. And then you'll wish you had put the damned riddles away." He took a swing, but didn't seem to realize he missed. But Nygma still felt his words in his gut._

 _Nygma watched as his father shed a few genuine tears, then watched his father's face scrunch up like he tasted something sour. Then he stumbled his drunk ass off to the fridge to fetch another beer. Nygma was crying, he knew this, but he refused to let it affect him. He ran to his room, and began to pack. He filled grocery bags with his clothes, his shoes, and his books. Then he laid in bed until he heard his father snoring in the living room. He grabbed his stuff, climbed out the window, and looked back only once before he ran._

"Nygma? You look as if you'd seen a ghost. Are you alright?"

Nygma shuddered back into reality when Kristen spoke, feeling a sudden ache in his jawline. He wiggled it around before responding "Why of course I am Kristen! I'm here with you aren't I?" Then he twirled her around and held her close as he ducked her down before slowly pulling her back up. "I think I just had some bad sushi or something."

Like the genius she was, she saw right through him. "Nygma, you can tell me anything. I know you aren't sick, you don't even like sushi!" She blushed at being so blatant about her eavesdropping on him. "So when you are ready, open up to me. We may not be official, we may barely even be friends, but I'll still be here for you."

Nygma relaxed, impressed at her sleuthing and delighted at her comment, though the "not even friends" thing did sting a little.

"Thank you," he began, "you truly are the kindest person I know. But I like what we have. And I don't want to ruin it with my nonsense."

"Nygma, if you were going to ruin this, you would have already with your cheesy riddles. But admittedly, I'm fond of the puzzles and of you, so tell me when you feel ready. Please promise me that."

He blushed deeply, but still managed to look at her and promise. He would try to keep it. He really would, but he wouldn't be ready to speak of it for a long time yet.

The rest of the night passed quickly, and soon their legs became too tired to dance.

"Riddle me this: Where do people go but never stay, use like a store but do not sell from, and own but still pay for?"

After a brief pause she said, with a hopeful gleam in her eye "A home?"

"Wrong. It's a- wait. Did you guess a home?"

Between giggles she nodded.

"I- I have never had anyone guess my riddle correctly. Yes. It's a home. I think it is time that we end the festivities."

"Yes please, my legs are so tired. And you will find that I am quite the riddle myself."

"I take it that means you will give me another night out to help me solve you?" Nygma tried to disguise his excitement and anxiety, but his fingers still tapped nervously on his leg as he rocked up and down on his feet.

"I suppose it does Nygma." She smiled so beautifully, and Nygma felt his heart beat faster.

With a smile in return, he crooked his elbow for her yet again, and she interlocked her arm in his. The whole way to her door they walked in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the silence that graced friends who had known each other so long that they needn't say a word. It was the kind of silence that peace thrived in, and it was the perfect way to end the night.

"Well, this is me." She looked at him expectantly.

"Okay, well, goodnight then Kristen."

She frowned but said goodnight and went inside. Nygma waited outside her door for a moment, but then slowly turned on his heel and walked away, whistling for the wind.

It was strange to him, how quickly she changed from dismissing his riddles and him to answering them-correctly even- and slyly asking for another date. _What had changed her mind so quickly?_ He pondered. Nygma had expected at least a few months for her to warm up to him, but yet she surpassed all his expectations. Whatever the reason, he was simply happy that she had. But Nygma never felt peace for very long, and even after such a night he began to doubt again.

"What if someone paid her off? That has to be it, why would a woman like her ever want a boy like me? Or maybe it was pity. She does see me by myself at the office usually. I'm a geek, and she's a prize. I'm a jester, and she's the queen. Or maybe she was just bored, or lonely, or using me somehow. There just has to be an explanation as to why she would give me even a minute of her time!"

"What if she actually likes you?"

Nygma spun around in surprise and came face to face with Mr. Cobblepot himself.

"Hello Riddler. I'd ask how you are doing, but you have been talking rather loud to yourself and it seems you are having some girl troubles."

"Yes. Um. Yes. This girl from work, um. What are you doing here Penguin?"

"Oh you know, just taking a stroll through the city, admiring what is finally mine." Penguin proclaimed boldly. There was a strange look in his eye as he waited for a response, almost as if he had said what he did to see how Riddler would react. But Nygma merely blinked a few times and waited a mere moment before he responded.

"I had noticed the obsidian color. Congratulations on your victory." Nygma said with a tone devoid of emotion.

"How observant you are!" Penguin's eye twitched in annoyance, wondering how Riddle could have possibly noticed that. He knew he was intelligent, but did not realize the extent of his intellect. "Well it's been nice to chat, but I have a few women waiting for me if you catch my drift… I know how they feel about me. Good luck with Katrina."

"Her name is Kristen."

"Ah, well, a dull face doesn't usually stick in my mind."

Nygma bristled and stood up straighter, clenching his fists before visibly relaxing his muscles as to not let Penguin get the satisfaction.

"Tell your mother I said hello. I hope she is well Penguin, when I saw her last she had some sores around her mouth and there were some bruises on her knees, _if you catch my drift._ "

Now it was Penguin who let rage shine through his eyes. If it was any other person who had suggested such a thing about his mother, they would be dead. But he couldn't kill Riddler. He too found himself with clenched fists and rigid posture.

"So funny you should say that. She is fine. Farewell Riddler, 'till we meet again." And with that he spun on his heel and began the short walk back to his nightclub.

Nygma chuckled and let a smile through. He had gotten the last word.

"You win again Nygma. Congratulations!" He said to himself as he began walking home. "This may be only a small victory but someday I will win this war. Such a funny man, always starting wars he can't see through. I'd give it a few weeks before Maroni and Falcone see through his little scheme. He is a worthy adversary, but still defeatable."


	6. Leading a Double Life (Ch 6)

_**A/N: Now that the story is in full swing, I will be posting every two weeks instead of every week. Expect updates to happen on Sunday's. Thanks for reading!**_

Penguin walked away from Riddler rather angrily. Half wishing that he could turn around and kill Riddler, his, _\- nevermind that_. He refused to acknowledge him as such. Riddler was less intelligent, less successful, and for some reason still working with the police. And what kind of man called another man's mother a whore! _If only he knew_ Penguin thought to himself.

"It can't be true, it just can't." But Penguin knew he was in denial. He knew that it was true. There were just too many signs, too much proof. He wouldn't tell a soul what he knew. He would take it to the grave.

"Maybe if I just go to sleep and pretend like nothing happened, then it will all go away. Yes of course it will!" He laughed maniacally to himself, the laughter catching in the wind and bouncing off the brick walls. There was a look in his eye in that moment that made people cross to the other side of the street, refusing to get too close. Penguin became a loose cannon that night, ready to fire on anyone and anything for the slightest of mistakes.

When he arrived home, he smiled deeply at his servants, and it was off-putting to them. Penguin never acknowledged them in kind regards, but yet he said hello to every single one as he passed them. Then he approached the party stragglers, and four women caught his eye.

"Hello ladies, would you care to join me upstairs?"

"Uh, who are you?" One of the women responded. Penguin felt a surge of rage raise to his temples and the vein pulsated in his head visibly, but he maintained his smile.

"I am the guest of honor, the patron of this party, your delightful host Penguin. By all rights, I own you, just as I do this city. The question was more of a courtesy than anything." He nodded a command to his guards, and the women were seized. Their cries and begging did not deter Penguin. They were his now. Up the stairs the group went, and Penguin began his night affairs.

The next morning he awoke to see the women chained on his wall where he had left them.

"Good morning Jim! Don't you hear those birds chirping? And ah, you have brought me my victory waffles? What a delightful scent! Please prepare my obsidian suit for the day. And is everything in order for the party?"

"What party sir?"

"Why my victory party of course! I just conquered the city!"

"Sir, you celebrated that yesterday."

"You're quite the jester Jim! In the future you should just keep your jokes to yourself."

Jim gave a nervous chuckle and left the breakfast on Penguin's bed, swiftly retreating to prepare a party.

"Your reports, sir?" said David as he walked in uneasily.

"Yes please! I'm sure there are plenty, especially last minute invitation requests."

"Uh, yes. Your party. Of course Maroni and Falcone want to attend."

"I'm sure they do, but that's a no. Oh! Before you begin, I have an ongoing mission for you. Find out everything you can about Edward Nygma. I want to know what he eats, when he sleeps, how often he blinks and breathes. Everything. And I want information on his girlfriend. No detail is too small. Okay, begin."

Penguin listened to his reports, some were in advance thank you notes for the party, which he thought was odd, others were requests from his previous bosses, of which he declined all of, some were on the Wayne family, and on and on. Finally there was nothing more, and Penguin got up to get dressed.

"That's odd. My suit is wrinkled. Perhaps I need a new launderer." But Penguin still donned the suit and began his perfect day.

Across the city, Nygma was walking to work. It was the first day he would see Kristen after their date, and he was nervous. There was no telling how she behave around him at work.

"Will it be professional? Will she want to hold hands? Do we eat lunch together? Do I initiate physical contact?" He asked himself.

"Yes to all of those!" Kristen exclaimed, causing Nygma to spin around in surprise.

"Kristen? What on earth are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too Nygma." She started, hands on her hips with a mock-frustrated expression. "I was going to walk you to work today, but you leave much earlier than I thought! I have been looking for you." She outstretched her hand, and he took it, immediately blushing at her forwardness, and then they began walking again.

"Sorry, um. I felt a need for the crisp morning air and um, well I left early to um. To feel it. Yeah."

"You are so cute when you are nervous! The morning air is rather lovely isn't it?"

 _Not as lovely as you are_ Nygma thought to himself.

"What was that?" Kristen looked at him quizzically. _Did I say that out loud?_

She laughed and the sound reverberated through his heart; it sounded like a laugh of an angel.

"Yes Nygma, you did say that out loud, and asked yourself that question out loud as well." She laughed again and Nygma transduced the sound into an image of sunny rain, a butterfly's wings, and a child's first smile. He chuckled, blushed, and then started to swing their arms back and forth. The light seemed to highlight her every curve, as if she was the sun itself. It was mesmerizing, and it felt like they were alone.

But Nygma and Kristen were not alone. While they made small talk and laughed at each other and themselves, a dark figure stood in the few shadows not yet touched by the morning. The man was of average height and slightly overweight. His arms showed training despite his belly showing laziness, and he had elaborate tattoos running down his immense arms. His eyes were a piercing hazel, hair black like the night, and face sprinkled with wrinkles.

Tawny looked upon the couple with a mixture of amusement and concentration. Spying for the Penguin was enjoyable, and rather easy for him as a retired detective, but he couldn't quite understand what this couple had to do with Penguin. Tawny shook his head in frustration, then began to try and get closer, taking notes as he did. _This information seems useless, but the boss said that no detail is too small. Oh they are holding hands, she blinked 3 times in one sentence, how riveting!_

 _Although, she looks awful familiar for some reason. That hair color, I feel like I've seen it somewhere. Is that… is that Kristen Kringle?_ He thought to himself, eyes widening in realization. _It is! She's the one that got away, well, in the police sense at least. I was tracking her back in Chicago, so what the hell is she doing in Gotham? What was it that she was accused of again? Damn this brain of mine. Of all the people I should remember, it should be her._

He continued to trail them until against all odds, she saw him. Kristen turned her head, made eye contact with him, and smiled. The color drained from his face as he remembered what she had done. He stopped dead in his tracks when she raised her hand to blow him a kiss, then fell over lifeless as the dart from her taunting mouth pierced his neck.

As she turned her head back, she visibly took the crazed look in her eye and changed it to romance as she met eyes with Nygma.

Nygma was startled at the drop of the man and started to run towards him when she caught his arm and asked what in the world he was doing.

"There was a man! He fell down, we need to help him!"

"What man?"

"He was standing right over there and then he fell! Don't you see him?"

"Nymga, dear, are you feeling alright? There is no one there." She put her hand on his forehead and masked herself with a concerned look.

"But- Kristen I swear he is there. I know I saw him!"

"There is no one. Come on, let's look." She took his hand and he led her to where the body had been, before the lethal poison had disintegrated his body, leaving ashes and dust.

"Kristen, I promise you there was someone there."

"I'm sorry Nygma, I don't know what you saw. There is very clearly no one here. Maybe he got up and walked away. Or maybe your poor tired brain is playing tricks on you."

Nygma's brows furrowed in frustration. He was confident that someone was there, but he trusted her. There was no reason for her to lie, and he was tired. And maybe the person had got up and walked. Something beat in his brain, telling him that he was right, but the battle in his mind finally subsided and concluded that Kristen was right. She searched his face, looking for any sign that he didn't believe her, but all she saw was his eyes go from the squint of frustration to the wideness of acceptation. Her shoulders relaxed, glad that she had convinced him. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him, as he was too important to her plan. Alone, she was too weak to amass the power she desired, but with his brain and resources she could most certainly reach success.

The two continued their walk, and slowly the silence returned to joyful conversation. Still, something felt off to them both, and they couldn't seem to shake the feeling, causing the conversation to stall again. Finally at work, they parted ways. The day passed slowly for them both, and they ate lunch and walked home together in varying degrees of conversation and silence. When Nygma was finally in the safety of his home, he took out the ring he had for Kristen and just spent the evening thinking and turning the ring over and over in his hands.

Kristen, on the other hand, did not stay home. As soon as Nygma left, she went upstairs to check her messages.

"So, Oswald attained the world and cracked immediately. I knew he couldn't handle it. But since I missed last night, it's a good thing his insanity is giving me a second chance." She thought out loud to herself.

As she considered her plans, she donned a new look. Kristen put her long red hair up in a loose bun on her head, took her useless glasses off, and adorned her face with eyeliner and dark purple lipstick. Then she chose for herself a strappy white shirt that showed more skin than it covered and black leather leggings that showed off her curves. To complete her look, she added dark purple stilettos. As she examined her look in the mirror, a smirk played across her lips and she found herself satisfied with her new appearance. Then she packed a few small weapons about her person, put her house key inside of the tiny pocket on her pants and left for Penguins party.

As soon as she walked in, she drew the eye of every person there, the women looking in jealousy and the men looking in lust. She winked at them as the whistled and game coy glares to the women. Finally she spotted the bird like man of her dreams, or rather, of her plans. She strutted up to him, watching him stop his pathetic dancing and check her out, looking her up and down, eyes hooded with desire.

"Penguin."

"That is me, yes. And who might you be?"

"Your favorite worst nightmare. Enchanted to meet you."


	7. An Unlikely Agreement (Ch 7)

"Might we talk upstairs?" Kristen continued. She loved watching him turn from curiosity to excitement. She knew she was of high desire, and she liked that.

"Quite the forward one aren't you? But I simply would much rather know you by more than 'my favorite worst nightmare'."

"I'm sure you would, but for now that shall do." She tried to grab his hand and drag him up the stairs, but he pulled his hand back and pushed his other between her breasts and the smile that was on his face was replaced with a stern expression.

"I will not be led around, and if you wish to speak with me you will tell me your name."

Kristen's skin lit up with goosebumps from the intensity of his tone.

"Fine. You may call me Nightshade."

He squinted in annoyance at her. Penguin wanted to accept this, but he knew she would take that as her being stronger than him. At the same time, this could be advantage. He had let Maroni and Falcone see him as weak, and in the long run it paid off. If he let her do the same, perhaps he could use that later. Give in, and he loses some power for now, but it could turn into more power later. Refuse her, and he lost the opportunity to hear what she had to say. Whatever it was that she wanted to discuss might be the very key he needed to maintain his position.

"Alright Ms. Nightshade. Shall we?" He said, swooping his arm out in front of him, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. He may be more interested in her mind, but he was a gentleman, and a man with needs. As she strut in front of him, going up the stairs, he examined her backside and noticed a few weapons tucked about. She was definitely no one to underestimate. He turned for a brief moment and nodded a command to a guard saying that he wished to be followed, just in case. He considered telling her to leave her weapons outside the room, but he decided it would be better for her to think him oblivious. He loathed groveling, but he couldn't deny its effectiveness.

Once in his chambers, she spun around to meet his eyes with great intensity.

"Alright Penguin. I know you aren't a complete fool. I clearly didn't ask you up here out of attraction to you…" Her voice trailed off as she suddenly noticed the four women chained and gagged on his wall. He watched with great pleasure as she gulped, not knowing why he had scandalously dressed women in chains. But she finally met his eyes again as she continued.

"I need you. You have the city, as of today yes? She asked, checking his sanity.

Something prickled in his mind telling him no, but what else would explain his party and suit?

"Yes. I won yesterday, I celebrate today. What does a girl like you need from me?"

"A small loan and a new office."

"Quite the modest request. But you will take nothing from me until I get to know you." He watched as she looked over at the women again, fear just barely touching her eyes.

"What would you like to know?"

"Ah, you must really be in need. How old are you?"

"26."

"Where are you from?"

"Chicago."

"What do you like to do in your free time?"

"Read, write, self-evaluate." Such easy questions, she couldn't help but wonder when he would ask something more important.

"How many crimes have you committed?"

Apparently he was thinking giving her soft questions would trick her into answering without thinking about the question first. He thought wrong. Before she answered, she actually considered how many she had committed. In reality, it was probably short of a few hundred. But if she told him that, either he would trust her more or dismiss her immediately. She did not want to take any risks, so she decided to downplay it and play the pity card.

"I can honestly say I'm not quite sure, but I can tell you that every single one was justified. The crimes were petty early on, as my mother and I were homeless." That part was true. "I love her so much, and I just wanted us to have our basic needs met. Then she died, and," She paused from dramatic effect, pretending to wipe away tears while examining his lack of reaction. "And well, I had become accustomed to the ease of it by then and have been on and off involved in crime for a while now. "

"Have you killed anyone?"

The faces of those who had fallen by her doing flashed in her mind, and it took a few moments for her to process the reality of how many lives she had taken. In all honesty though, she didn't care.

"Once in defense. He was trying to take advantage of me, so I grabbed the heaviest object I could find and slammed in on his head." She wanted to look defiant but still innocent, so she settled with a feigned shudder and a dark gaze.

"How far have you been with a man?"

"Is that really necessary?"

He looked back meaningfully, as if to say that he was fine for this meeting to end.

"Fine. All the way."

"And a woman?" He smirked at her.

"Really? Second base."

"What do you think is the absolute worst thing you are capable of doing?"

"Falling in love." She said without a moment's hesitation. He chuckled at her in response.

"Why do you need 'a small loan and a new office'?"

"Because I want to do better with my life."

"And what can you offer me? Why should I fill your needs?

"I will do anything for you. No matter what it is you ask of me."

"Anything?"

"Anything. I will be your instrument to use how ever you see fit. Even if that means death."

"That seems, well rather excessive of a commitment for such a tiny request, but I won't turn that down just for sake of equity. You have yourself a deal Nightshade." He extended his hand to shake on the deal, but she merely looked at it as if it were an insult.

"I am no fool. Do you really expect me to shake your hand on a deal that you have yet to define the terms of? You could very well trick me into becoming your slave with the promise of honoring my request, and not making good on it for years! I need what I asked for within the month. I will pick the location, and the loan will be $20,000 dollars, or no deal."

Penguin admired her bravery, her intellect; her very essence was all rather pleasing. He had hoped to make such a great deal and con her into being his "slave", as she called herself, but she was certainly no fool. He had the money, and a month was reasonable.

"Fine. I will give you $20,000 and an office of your choice, by the end of this month, and in return you shall be my personal 'slave'. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She shook his hand with surprising certainty, and then he called up a writer for the contract. After they both signed, and had it notarized, she took her copy and asked for dismissal, which he gave her, and then he walked himself over to the lounge room.

 _How interesting her response concerning the worst thing she was capable of. Falling in love? Truly it was a frightening thought, but surely unexpected from her. I guess I expected her to be less calm, less confident, but she is utterly an enigma._ Penguin thought to himself, and as soon as he said that last word, his head began to ache; veins pulsing in his head while neurons furiously tried to fire but could not conjure the potential to do so. _And what about her response to crime and murder? Those hands do not look as if they use themselves for justice. Their sleek and slimness implies a delicate danger. The way they twitched when I asked her all those questions gave me the impression that if I had pressed much further, they would have removed themselves from her side and found themselves wrapped around my neck. I think those hands have found themselves in all kinds of trouble; it's rather surprising that they are as white as they are, clean and contradictorily innocent appearing. I can't wait to see what uses I will find for them. She will be rather useful, but definitely someone to watch closely. She has the potential to be as much of an adversary as-as, dammit what is the word I'm looking for?_ Again Penguin's head throbbed with pain as he frantically tried to think of what he was going to say, though alas, he gave up with a frustrated shake of his head.

"Boss?"

"David? It's evening. What are you doing here?"

"It's an urgent report. It couldn't wait until morning."

"Well out with it then."

"Tawny hasn't returned. We checked his vitals tracker, and well, there is no easy way to say this, but he is dead sir."

"Dead? Are you certain?"

"Yes. The monitor just came and told me. Everything was fine and then adrenaline shot through him right before he died. We checked his last location for the body, and for a hint of where he might have gone just in case, but there was not a trace. He is gone."

Penguin picked up the nearest item and threw it across the room, causing David to flinch in fear. "Son of a bitch! He was my best one. Send someone else. I don't care how many die, but I need eyes on them at all time."

"May I ask why sir? Are they truly that dangerous that they are worth all these lives?"

Penguin's head cocked to the side and he squinted in rage. If it were possible, daggers would have shot from his eyes. The air thickened, yet still dropped in temperature as tension and an icy chill fell upon the room. He walked slowly towards David as David tried to slowly back away, clutching his clipboard to his chest as if it could protect him.

"Did you just question me?"

"Yy-e-ss sir-rr, sss-orry. It ww-won't happen a-ggg-ain."

Penguin reached for the knife in his pocket, ready to shove it through the depths of David's skull, when his mother walked in. David took the opportunity to run out the room before it was too late.

"Chessie, what are you doing dear?"

"Oh nothing Mother!" He told her, taking her into a warm embrace.

"I am surprised to see you respond so kindly to me, you know, after last night. When you ran out on me, I kind of thought I might not see you again."

"What are you talking about? We didn't meet last night. Did you forget to take your meds?"

"Why of course we did darling! I told you about-"

"Sir?" Another of his many servants came in, a concerned look on his face.

"Can you not see that I am with my mother?"

"I'm sorry sir, but the police are here."

"Police? Dearie why would the police be here?"

"Mother please wait here. It's probably just a noise complaint."

He excused himself and walked with the interrupter out into the stairwell.

"Why are they here?"

"They said that the friends of a few girls called them and said that their friends never came home last night, and that they were here for your party yesterday."

"I didn't have a party yesterday." Then Penguin remembered the women on his wall, and his head started to hurt again. _How did those women get there? I remember having them chained up, but I don't remember why they were there in the first place. They were probably a gift from Maroni. Yes, that's it. Surely it is. Right?_

"Sir?"

"What? Oh yes. I'll speak with them." He followed the interrupter to the back door where the police were standing and smiled when he saw Jim, the real Jim of whom his new server received his name from.

"Detective Gordon! What a lovely surprise. Why are you visiting my lovely abode? Did you decide to come to my party after all? I'd much prefer you to inform me if you plan to bring more than one plus-one with you. It's the considerate thing to do after all."

"I'm not here to party. You know why I am here."

"Do I? I don't believe so, but please, enlighten me."

"I am here about four women. They were reported missing last night."

"As you can see, I have many women here. Who's to say if the ones you are looking for are here or not?"

"Do any of these faces look familiar?" Jim said, pushing 4 pictures in front of Penguin's face.

Penguin took a moment and hid the realization that he indeed did recognize the women, and knew exactly where they were. Likely Falcone was upset that Maroni had sent a gift without informing him first. Falcone probably called in the tip so that Maroni's gift would be rescinded.

"I may have seen them dancing, but I'm not sure. I have had plenty women walk through tonight."

"What about last night?"

"Last night? There wasn't a party last night. They might have come in through the club, but I wasn't really paying attention then."

Jim knew that there was a party. He had photo evidence; pictures that he had taken himself. But he couldn't admit to his reconnaissance, as it wasn't department sanctioned. And really, it wasn't worth the fight. He was only there in the event that it was a homicide, not just a missing persons case.

"Alright, well if you see them just let me know."

"Detective Gordon, shouldn't we at least look around?" One of the police murmured.

"No kid, just let it be. Oswald here wouldn't lie to us, now would he?"

He looked to the side and then Detective Gordon nodded in his own dismissal.

Glad to have avoided potential disaster, Penguin smiled as he waved goodbye and closed the door.

Nightshade watched the police turn away, and she couldn't help but feel a little nervous as they passed by her. She had called in the tip, but as she suspected, Penguin had them wrapped around his little finger. He would be harder to defeat from the outside, again as she had suspected. It seemed her plan to work from the inside would be more efficient after all, but the police would be of no use.

As she walked away, she thought about the future. She walked the streets thinking about her loan, and the office that she planned to buy. She thought about her double life, and her new identity. _Nightshade, ha. All these years I have never hidden my identity, mostly just because I hadn't shared it. But now I have some sort of alter ego? What am I, Superman? Kristen from the office by day, Nightshade by night?_ She laughed out loud at the thought. _How truly absurd. At least it got me what I needed. I have Riddler and Penguin on my side. Oh, Riddler; how I hate to play with the poor man's heart. I usually don't play with my food, but I can't get his help the way I did Penguin's. No matter what Riddler thinks, he is weak. He lets love consume him, just as Penguin let's his beloved mother influence him. It's pure weakness._

Her mind seemed all but settled on the weakness of love. A memory danced across her mind, twirling through the thorns and vines that had formulated over the years.

" _Mother, mother it's time to go! We have to abandon that body."_

 _Kristen watched as her mom stood over the body. The now dead man had tried to hurt her mom and her, and she had bashed his head in with the lamp. He wasn't her first kill, so she knew the drill: kill and flee. Damn neighbors had probably heard her damned momma screaming. She didn't know why her momma loved that horrible man._

" _We have got to go now!"_

 _Still her momma stood. Stubborn woman had always been that way. She took too long to get over things, and she never did like when Kristen did the right thing for them both. If she was honest with herself, she was sick of her momma holding her back. For a brief second she allowed herself to stop and think about the situation. If she took that gun, shot the man and then shot her momma, it would look like a murder-suicide, and she could just walk away from it all. But she had always had her mom with her. She wasn't sure that she was ready to walk away from her like that._

" _You damn fool! I loved that man. He wasn't going to hurt you." Her mom finally said, snapping out of the shock._

" _Are you crazy momma? He had you strapped down and was just about to try and take me just then!"_

" _You are foolish, girl! He was just messing. I promise you. Now look what you have done. This is your fifth kill this week! And all of them were so unnecessary. All this death inside of you girl. It should be you laying on that floor. It should be you."_

 _That was it. Kristen wasn't going to take it anymore. She pulled out the gun and fired two rounds, one straight to her mother's heart, and the other in the temple of the man on the ground. She watched as her mother bled out, crumbling before her. She felt no remorse. The woman was her weakness. That weakness needed to be gone by now; it was past time really. In the distance, she heard sirens. She placed the gun next to the man's hand, ducked out the side window into the alley, and ran as fast as she could to get away from the scene. She didn't look back even once._

Kristen shook herself of the memory. She hadn't felt bad for killing her then, and she didn't now. Her life was coming together; even if she had felt guilty she simply didn't have time to deal with baggage. Instead, she smiled. Smiled at her freedom, smiled at her unlikely arrangement with Penguin and Riddler, smiled at the streets she would conquer soon enough.


	8. Unfinished Business (Ch 8)

Ch. 8

Nygma found himself walking the streets, not completely sure where he was going, but there was no better way to think than to do so while walking.

He still felt unsure about Kristen's claim that he was tired and hallucinating. There was no other explanation, and far stranger things had happened in Gotham, but he simply couldn't put it to rest. He remembered that he felt like they were being followed, but that there was no one there. He knew that he had been enjoying time with Kristen and that she had turned around shortly after he had. A mere human reflex of course, to see what others were looking at. _Did she catch a glimpse of him?_ _No, she would have said something. To see someone following us would have frightened her._ But then he realized that she had turned around again. _Was it just to double check?_ And then right after she turned back, he heard a thump, he turned and saw a body, and he ran towards it. But then she had stopped him. She had grabbed his arm and his attention, and when he turned back, there was no body. _It just doesn't make any sense. It's not like the body disintegrated or something. I don't know of any chemical that could disintegrate a body as large as that man's._

He walked for quite awhile, obsessively going over the details in his mind until all of the sudden he smacked right into a giant, worn out yellow sign advertising the local laundry center.

"You bleed them, we clean them? What in the world? That's the same tagline from the Laundromat from when I was a child. Wait. No. No, no, no. Did I? Did I really walk myself all the way to the Bronze sector? Shit, shit, shit. I can't be here. I can't be here! How did this happen?"

Nygma panicked; he hadn't been back since he left that night all those years ago. He had never even wanted to, but yet his mind led him there as if he did. He stood looking beyond the sign and memories flooded his mind. He saw the old schoolyard, the one he never went to but passed every day on the way to the private school that his father guilted him about.

" _You think you're too good for us, eh? You may go to the Knight's Prep, but you'll always be a bronzie. What are you going to do with an education in a city like this anyway?"_

The kids had always taunted him for focusing on his studies, and just at the very memory Nygma's shoulders sagged with the weight of his struggles.

Beyond the school yard was the grocery, if one could even call it that. There was hardly any food, and despite the average wages of the sector the prices were jacked up so high people could barely afford a box of granola bars. His old man used to drive the truck with the stuff from the Silver to the Bronze sector, and that's how they were fed; by the food he stole out of the back.

To the left of the grocery was the mini mall with a consignment store and the butcher shop. Beyond those few things, there was nothing but trailers and worn down homes. Without realizing it, Nygma had begun to walk again, this time delving even further into the sector. He watched in horror as his feet led him down the streets; he remained terrified that someone from his past would catch his eye and flag him down. Few people were outside their homes, watching something besides the television that they couldn't even afford for once, and Nygma was grateful for that. He resisted as much as he could, trying to physically stop himself from carrying on down the streets but for all the might of him he could not stop until he was on the doorstep of his father's home. Then the struggle ended with his feet and began in his arms. His right hand was lifting up to knock, and Nygma clasped the forearm with his left hand, struggling to keep the right from knocking. He must have looked like a madman, fighting with his own arms as he was. But no matter how hard he pulled, the right arm dominated and hit the dirty brick red door with a loud _tap, tap, tap_.

"Eh? Who is it?" Called out a man with slurred words. Nygma could barely even recognize the raspy drawl as his father's voice.

Finally Nygma gained control of himself, and refused to let sound come out of his mouth. He stood there with it agape, his eyes looking back and forth rapidly as if the solution was written somewhere.

"Ah, hell. Gonna make me get up aren't ya? This better be someone with a ticket out of here, be that ticket a gun or a million dollars."

His father's footsteps thudded on the floor, each sound resounding like the tolls of death coming his way. The recliner was only a few steps from the door, but it felt like centuries had passed before the door finally opened. Their faces had shock written all over them as Nygma noticed how little his father had changed and his father recognized the man standing before him to be his son. Shock however quickly turned to fury when the drunken man remembered why his own son's face seemed so foreign.

"You good-for-nothing scoundrel! You left me! Your own father who spent all those years raising you and paying for that ridiculous school! My fortunes wasted on an education for an ungrateful loser. And now you come waltzing up to my door, and for what? Money? Son I ain't got a single dollar and even if I was a _king_ I wouldn't give you a single cent."

Nygma continued to stare in shock and his hands fidgeted at his side as his father continued on his rant.

"Your mother left me, then you left me, the broads I paid for wouldn't even stay the whole night. Everyone leaving and I would have been ecstatic to have seen any of the whores' faces, but yet you are the only one to have returned. You looking for an apology? Some sort of closure? Not. Going. To. Happen." He emphasized each word with a rough push to the chest.

Nygma continued to listen as he droned on, rage beginning to build up inside him. Each word made for another brick, until the building reached from the tips of his toes, to the tips of his fingers, and to the top of his throat. The words choked him and he began to shake with burning rage. His mind set aflame at the sight and sound of the man who claimed to be a caretaker, a helper, an actual father.

"What the damn hell? Boy you look like you are about to explode! Not that I would mind. If came to kill yourself in front of me, then thank you and get on with it already. I have some rope out back, and Billy over there has the shot gun. But I'd lend you my belt if you'd prefer."

That was it. That was all he could take. Something snapped in Nygma, and his bony hands found themselves around his father's neck. His thumbs pressed on the jugulars, jagged nails scraping the skin. His fingers tightened further around as Nygma pushed them both inside and kicked the door closed. His father's eyes popped forward and he gasped for air, his face turning blue and purple as oxygen cut off, and his hands shook trying to reach up to his son to push him away. Nygma continued to tighten his grip until finally his father's shoulders sagged and his weight shifted him downward. Nygma gave up his hold finally and the body fell to the floor.

He stood above his father, hands shaking as he examined what he had done. He had killed for the second time, and the very thought of that shook him inside. He began to laugh however; tears streaming down his face, stomach cramping from his laughter as dopamine and endorphins flooded his system. His father's still-warm body laid before him, bruises on the neck, and Nygma could only laugh. The sun set around the home and an eerie purple and orange color spread across the shag carpet through the broken windows.

Finally his laughter subsided, and the tears dried up and crusted on his cheeks. Without second thought, he began to cover his tracks. He took the belt from his father's waist and tied it around his father's neck and attached it to the plumbing pipe running across the ceiling. His father swayed back and forth and Nygma watched the body, a smile on his face, until it finally stilled and the colors of the sun had disappeared. His empty eyes glanced at the rest of his old home until finally he wiped his sweaty hands against each other, turned to the door, and walked out. As he walked, he smiled and laughed in random bursts, shaking his head in delight as he walked himself home, feeling free for the first time in his life.


End file.
